


There's a Little Box (in my pocket that say what words can never)

by SenshineKkaebsong



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove is Bad with Words, Christmas, Fluff, Future Fic, Happy Ending, He's an asshole, Light Angst, M/M, Mention of abuse, Soft boys being soft, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve's asshole parents, no beta we die like men, the hendersons are a godsend, yo i really forgot how to tag wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenshineKkaebsong/pseuds/SenshineKkaebsong
Summary: After five years, Steve and Billy decide to return to Hawkins for Christmas.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	There's a Little Box (in my pocket that say what words can never)

Steve's giving it his all not to turn to his side and sock Billy in his fucking face. The Camaro is roaring down the vacant, open road without snow tires or chains -- a metal death trap with shitty heating and windshield wipers that squeak obnoxiously as it clears the snow piling up before them. Billy should have sold it when he was offered. The money would have covered rent and bills for a couple months, allow them to live a little more comfortably, set aside a fair amount for their joint savings account. Steve has his coup anyways. Billy calls it the  _ pussyboy ride _ , as in,  _ only boys with wet, tight pussies drive it, that's you, Stevie.  _

Well fuck Billy because now they're going to die in this shitty car, either from Billy's reckless driving, the snow-slick road or hypothermia. Maybe all three. Steve can't see two feet ahead of him, he doesn't know  _ how _ Billy is pushing 70 km like he knows the fucking roads leading to Hawkins, has remembered every turn and bend since their departure from this town nearly five years ago. 

He breathes an audible sigh of relief that has Billy snorting when the car slows as they whoosh past a hulking shadow in an open field. It's Merrill's farm. Thank fucking God. "Almost there, pretty boy." Billy teases, but Steve can see the way his shoulders slope more gently now, his grip on the steering relaxing. The tension escapes through the vents and out into the frigid air as more and more houses appear, both old and new construction that makes the town look different but not noticeably so. Main Street is white and eerily empty given the time of night in small-town Hawkins, a damning contrast to the constantly vibrating life and humidity of Santa Monica. 

"Turn here." Steve tells him. They pass Hawkins High and the middle school, nostalgia hitting Steve like a freight train. How could he have spent nineteen years of his life thinking he'd ever be content staying in a place like this? The world was so much bigger, so much better, on the outside. Eventually, Steve sees the looming shadow of their stop for the night approaching. He hadn't told Billy where they'd be staying while they were here, knowing he'd bitch about it and probably cancel the whole trip. 

"Really?" The man sneers expectedly when they pull up at the Hendersons, the Camaro coming to a screeching halt. "We're staying at your fucking child friend's house?" The lights are on inside and there’s a scraggly line of colourful Christmas bulbs draped over the front porch, no doubt done by Dustin who's probably been waiting for them for a while. 

"Hey, Dustin offered and I miss the kid. It's been a long time." Steve replies, bracing himself to face the cold. He opens the door, hissing when biting wind rushes around him, prickling the skin on his cheeks and seeping into his clothes. 

By the time he slams the door, Billy's already grabbing their duffel bags from the trunk and then he turns, expression murderous, lips twisted into a sneer. "Fucking come on." He yells over the wind, trudging toward the front door. Steve doesn't need to be told twice, rushing after him. It swings open before he can even knock and Dustin's standing there, taller, leaner, but still baby-faced. 

"Steve!" He bellows, crashing into him. His head rests on Steve's shoulder now and it suddenly hits him just how much things have changed; how much the people he loves have changed. 

"Buddy," Steve laughs, patting the boy's back. "Can we do this inside? It's fucking cold." 

Dustin steps back, looks over Steve's shoulder to where Billy is probably melting snow with how pissed he is, and nods solemnly. "Sure man, come in." He breathes a sigh of relief once the door closes and warm air curls around him. 

Steve immediately sheds his coat and kicks off his boots, hissing as he defrosts. The scent of spiced gingerbread hangs heavy in the air, lights twinkling around them with splotches of red, gold and green exploding from every possible corner. There's a small Christmas tree with presents wrapped underneath it in the living room next to the roaring fireplace. The snow is early this year and even though Claudia isn't here to greet Steve, it truly feels like a real, homey Christmas. "You got food, Henderson?" Billy calls over Steve's shoulder, throwing their duffel bags onto the ground so he can dispose of his own jacket haphazardly on the couch. The look of disgust that flits over Dustin's face is priceless. He snatches up the coat with as much sass as anyone can possess and deposits it on the coat rack near the door. 

"Yes, you fucking neanderthal. It's Christmas Eve and my brother is here. Of course I'd cook for him." Steve outright laughs, pushes forward to plant a wet smacking kiss to Dustin's cheek and ruffle his hair fondly with minimal complaint. 

"You know where the guest room is, Steve. You and your," he pauses, gives Billy a searching look of disapproval, " _ friend _ can get settled and then come out for dinner." 

"Sure." Steve replies, picking up his bag and tugging Billy by the string of his hoodie down the hall to the last door on the left. It's clean and small. There's a twin bed and a dresser, and a wall of cardboard boxes that probably holds all of Dustin's stuff from when he was younger. There's no doubt that the guest room doubles as a storage space. If it was just Steve, he'd have bunked with Dustin but there's Billy too and that'd just be fucking weird. This hybrid room will do just fine. Billy instantly flops face-first onto the mattress, groaning while Steve starts to unpack his toiletries and arrange them neatly on the dresser. He doesn't bother asking Billy to fix his things, knowing he prefers to live out of his suitcase. 

"I still can't believe we're staying here for Christmas, Harrington. Can't fucking believe you did this to me." Billy sighs. He's turned on his back, staring up at the rotating ceiling fan.

"Look, Claudia isn't here. She's with her sister in Maine this year so it's just Dustin. Besides, neither of us want to go back to our old places anyway." He bites, receiving a grunt that makes him frown and cross his arms over his chest. 

"What?" Billy snaps, piercing blue eyes holding a mean glint. The bedroom is plain and void of any of the Christmas cheer the main living areas of the house are drenched in. It feels oddly detached, or maybe Steve's just projecting his own disastrous, spiralling thoughts onto the decor. 

"Nothing. I just- nothing. Let's go eat, okay?" He sighs, already moving toward the door when Billy stops him with a hand around his elbow, tugging him back gently. 

"Hey," he says softly, a complete juxtaposition of his demeanour just moments ago. Steve blinks. Even after all these years, he's never gotten used to his unpredictability. A rough, warm hand cups his cheek and Steve sighs as he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He allows Billy to pull him close until they're chest to chest, head cradled between Billy's neck and shoulder where his cologne is heaviest, mixed in with the crisp air from outside and just a hint of sweat. "Don't get lost in that pretty little head of yours, okay?" Billy murmurs against his temple, lips warm and wet. 

"Okay." Steve replies automatically. 

"Steve, I mean it. I’m sorry, Hawkins just makes me really fucking panicky. You're here to have a good time and you will. That kid has been waiting for this for ages. You too." Strong arms curl around him now, squeeze him, grounds him. 

"Okay." He repeats. "Thanks." He can't resist pressing his lips to Billy's when he pulls back. Just a chaste kiss, more of a reassurance than anything else. He gets a warm smile in return before he's being ushered back into the living room with steady hands on his waist. 

Dustin admits halfway through his mug of eggnog-flavoured vodka that he'd bought the ham from Whole Foods and paid Karen fucking Wheeler of all people to make the side dishes.

Billy snorts so hard eggnog comes through his nose but Steve's too buzzed to care about the stain on Claudia's rug, desperately trying to forget about the empty Harrington mansion tucked away in Loch Nora or the fact that Billy refuses to label what they are despite fucking exclusively with occasional declarations of love thrown in, living together for the better part of five years, and having a damn shared bank account for goodness sakes. His movements are sloppy as he packs away the turkey slices they’d made dinner with before joining the guys around the fireplace with a stack of Uno cards. His third glass of wine in hand, classic Christmas tunes belting out of the bluetooth speaker connected to Dustin's phone, gingerbread crumbs on his lips and spice on his tongue, the earthy funk of good weed that Billy brought along in the air and coating his mouth, Steve declares it a great fucking night.

  
  


When Steve wakes the next day, it's not to the dying embers smothered between the ashy remains in the bricked hearth. He'd somehow migrated to the spare room, Billy's arm a familiar weight around his middle, bare leg tucked between his own and quiet snores ringing in his ear. He groans, burying further into the solid mass of warmth behind him, willing the headache courtesy a mild hangover to go away. At least his throat isn’t sandpaper dry which must have also been Billy’s doing - he vaguely remembers the man shoving glass after glass of water at his lips while he whined and tried to bat it away. It's Christmas morning, or at least he hopes it's morning still, and he's hungover. Great. 

Billy curses, tightens his grip in warning. Steve can't help it; he squirms more. He's uncomfortable and now that he knows it's a new day, it's  _ D-Day _ , his brain won't sit still, buzzing with need to get up and do things, anxiety prickling under his skin. "Jesus fuck, Steve." Billy eventually growls, voice thick with sleep as he rolls away, kicking off the blanket and leaving them both exposed to the cold air of the room. Steve's skin pebbles instantly and he hisses trying to chase after the warmth of Billy's body. Except the door flies open with a force that makes an alarming sound when the handle smacks into the wall and then Dustin's screaming about indecency and dicks everywhere and  _ Jesus Hargrove, it's Christmas morning you fucking douchebag, stop defiling my Steve! _

All to which Billy cackles and says Steve  _ loves _ it when he defiles him, licking his teeth, eyes bright as he gestures at his bare crotch. It makes Dustin screech harder and Steve's headache worsen. Then he's throwing pillows every which way until the door shuts and Billy's still red in the face but has stopped laughing, regarding Steve with careless affection. "Merry Christmas, pretty boy." He says, leaning forward and kissing him sweetly, slow and hot until he's pressing Steve into the bed and crawling between his legs, mouth trailing over his neck and dusky nipples, tongue teasingly licking over the nubs and teeth scraping them with the barest hint of pleasure-pain that makes Steve gasp and spread his legs wider for more. Billy takes his time mapping out his mole-speckled pasty skin with love bites, leaving tender splotches of red with teeth imprints that will undoubtedly bloom darker later, that Steve will press against just to feel the soreness. He noses over the trail of wiry hair leading to Steve's already hard cock, mouthing around the base and up the shaft, eyes mischievous and lips pink and teasing. Steve drinks up all the attention, puts on a good show of just how much enjoys it despite having to muffle his sounds of pleasure, chases the warm, wet heat of Billy's mouth and then returns the favour with fervency when he's sated and still orgasm-loose and hazy with pleasure. 

By the time they gather in the kitchen, freshly showered and dazed from another round in the bathroom, Dustin's whipped up a batch of pancakes. Steve playfully shoves him aside and takes over with scrambling the eggs and he throws a pout over his shoulder, blinking prettily until Billy grumbles and curses all the way to the stove where the skillet of bacon is crackling away and demanding attention. Billy makes him tea and pours himself a cup of coffee while Steve dishes out their meals. It's a quiet affair, sitting around the kitchen and enjoying the peaceful silence of a white Christmas morning. "Oh, mom called. She said she's sorry she couldn't be here but Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in advance. She left something for you guys under the tree too." Steve raises his eyebrows in question and Dustin shrugs. 

“We got her something as well but I suppose I’ll have to wait for her to get back to find out if she likes it.” Steve muses. He’d found a pretty cute scarf with cat pawprints on Etsy, figured it was right up her alley since, by all definitions, Claudia Henderson is  _ the  _ cat lady of Hawkins. It’s a shame she took Mews with her. Steve really missed the furball.

All of the others’ gifts had already been FedEx-ed and everyone except for El and Mike - who live in goddamn Toronto now, attending UT - called to let him know they received their presents. He’s eagerly anticipating messages later about them, knowing him and Billy totally killed it this year even with their tight budgets. “But I’m gonna open mine now.” Dustin grins, depositing his dirty dishes in the sink and rushing out into the living room like a fucking child. Billy raises an eyebrow at Steve who shrugs and grabs his mug and Billy’s arm, following after him. 

“Just so you know, skybox rates are fucking insane and everybody lives all over the fucking place so our budgets were a bit tight this year.” Steve warns, hovering anxiously, ass halfway off the couch as he watches Dustin tear into the wrapping. It’s a Stantz Funko Pop figurine, bought secondhand off ebay and in near mint condition. 

“Holy shit.” Dustin gasps, holding the box with something like reverence. At his side, Billy elbows him playfully and Steve finally relaxes a little, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. “Holy fucking shit. Steve!” He screeches, looks up at both men with watery eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to stop you there, Henderson.” Billy interjects. “This is an emotion-free zone. Tears are strictly prohibited. You wanna cry, take your pussy ass outside.” 

“Fuck you, man.” Dustin sniffles, voice cracking. “I can’t believe you guys remembered.” 

“It was Billy’s idea.” Steve admits, smiling sheepishly when the blond turns to him with furious eyes and a snarl on his lips. They’d gotten one for each of the kids which included two Venkman’s because it had been the argument of the year between Lucas and Mike that Halloween - ages ago - and became somewhat of an inside joke after that. Billy had asked him to not mention his input and he shrugged which wasn’t a definite answer. He should have known better. 

“God, you’re such an asshole and you defile Steve but I could kiss you right now.” Dustin scrubs at his face with the sleeve of his navy sweater and smiles at them. “Thanks guys.”  He carefully sets down the figurine on the coffee table and reaches behind the tree to pull out two boxes, handing them over. “From mom and I.” Dustin explains. If Billy’s surprised that Dustin had gotten him something, he doesn’t show it. They carefully pull the neat wrapping away. Billy gets to his gift first. Inside a pale grey box is a genuine leather jacket, complete with silver buckles and a bright red AC/DC insignia threaded into the back. It’s tasteful and classy and fits like it was fucking made for Billy’s body when he slips it on, staring down at himself with wide eyes and parted lips. Steve knows that must have cost a lot of money, he’d looked it up a while back before realising despondently that he couldn’t afford it. 

“I…” Billy trails off, breathy and choked, head down. Steve knows he’s trying hard to keep himself together because sometimes, thoughtful actions and sweet gifts still overwhelm him. 

“Looks great on you.” Steve admits softly. Billy’s eyes are watery when his baby blues meet Steve’s chocolate browns. 

“Yeah.” He says and turns to Dustin. “Thanks, man. I love it.” 

“Of course you do.” Dustin grins, crossing his arms over his chest like a proud dad. “Aren’t you gonna open yours?” He looks over at Steve’s half-opened present sitting forgotten on his lap. 

“Oh, yeah.” He laughs, still caught up in the moment of everything, the warmth, the feeling of family and love and happiness concentrated in the tiny living room of his best friend’s house that never existed in the Harrington manor. Billy sits at his side again, their thighs and arms pressed together. His breath catches when he fully tears off the wrapping, exposing an entire collection of  _ expensive _ nail polishes, all peach and nude tones with a few outstanding but gorgeous colours mixed in between. His shaky fingers slide over the shiny glass bottles, vision blurring until he feels hot tears rolling down his cheeks. 

It hits him like a freight train to the chest, the thought behind such a seemingly simple gift. He remembers the first time he’d worn nail polish with stunning clarity -- it was a year after he’d graduated and Nancy, Billy and Jonathan were over at his place, smoking pot and listening to music, just shooting the shit and ignoring the pressing demands of the world bearing down on them. Nance had pulled out a bottle of lilac polish from her purse and began to paint her nails with carefully curated strokes and the same intense concentration that furrowed her brows and pursed her lips back when she dated Steve and they used to study in the library, pencil eraser tucked between her teeth. Steve couldn’t stop staring. He stared until she must have felt the weight of it and looked up, regarding him curiously. _ “Want me to paint yours?” _ She’d asked as if it was the most normal question in the entire world, like his heteronormative upbringing wasn’t screaming at him to abort. His weed-addled brain couldn’t say yes fast enough, shuffled over almost eagerly and held out shaking hands. 

He’d forgotten his parents were due home that weekend. By then, the polish was chipped and ugly and fading but Steve held on to it stubbornly, couldn’t help but admire it every time he caught sight of the colour on his nails whenever his fingers moved. And then when his dad had seen it, he’d slapped Steve so hard, he’d blacked out for a few seconds, head thudding against the wall, tasting tangy iron at the back of his throat. There was a lot of screaming that night, most of which he’s purposely forgotten, but the look of unadulterated disgust in his mother’s eyes was the worst. 

“Baby,” Billy calls softly, breath warm at the shell of his ear. He blinks down at the box in his lap collecting his tears and then pushes it off to the side before scrambling across the floor and pulling Dustin into a hug. 

“Thank you.” He breathes between a silent sob. Steve hadn’t touched a nail polish bottle since then, even hundreds of miles away from his parents, the fear always lurking beneath his skin, but every time he was in Target or CVS, he’d find himself browsing the cosmetics and admiring the colours and shimmers, body burning up with longing and hurt. 

Dustin hugs him back just as tightly, just as desperately, and whispers, “You deserve this happiness, Steve.” And Steve thinks, yeah, he really does. 

  
  
Later that night, they reheat the Christmas lunch leftovers and eat their bellies full. Billy paints Steve’s nails a pale, pretty blue, the way he used to paint Max’s, and Steve posts aesthetically pleasing photos to his Insta and Snap, grinning when he reads the comments and sees nothing but positivity. It’s like the final  _ fuck you _ to his parents. 

“Billy.” Steve mumbles, fishing around in his bag. It’s almost one in the morning and they have to be on the road by nine if they wanna make any headway with driving back to Santa Monica. The trip itself is gonna take about two days if they tag-team the way they did on the way over.

“Yeah, baby?” He stops idly scrolling through his phone and looks up. Steve steels himself and turns around, throwing a bottle of lube and a condom on the bed next to him. 

“Please?” He asks, still feeling a little vulnerable and overwhelmed from the day, from the gifts, from all the love and support, Dustin’s smile and Billy’s constant warmth at his side. 

Billy licks his lips and rests his phone on the ground, scooting over and patting the empty space next to him. “C’mere, pretty boy.” He says softly, stripping out of his sweater and joggers, taking his boxers with it. Steve goes. He lays himself on the bed, let’s Billy undress him with tender, loving hands and a warm, wet mouth. Let’s Billy work him open with careful, gentle fingers and the sweetest endearments. Let’s Billy fuck him slow and long, holding him tight, praising Steve, loving him, caring about him. When he comes, it’s with tear tracks sticky on his cheeks and a choked cry that’s swallowed by Billy’s mouth. He’s shaking and it feels transcendental. Billy follows not too long after, a breathy moan against the pale stretch of his neck. 

“I love you.” Billy admits when their breaths have calmed and they’re curled together under the blanket, his thumbs tracing over Steve’s polished nails. Billy rarely ever says it. Steve too because he knows Billy doesn’t like it. 

He smiles, a small, private thing. “I love you too.” He replies. 

  
  


When they get to the Hilton in Kansas City, nearly ten hours later, Steve’s body is aching and he’s grumpy. He’d driven for five hours while Billy took the rest, and maintains that the Camaro is a death machine from hell. The bed is a welcoming sight and he quickly shoots Dustin a text before falling face-first onto it with an exaggerated groan. “Next time, we’re taking a plane. Road trips suck.” 

Billy hums tiredly, climbing in next to him. “I haven’t given you your Christmas present yet.” He admits into the quiet night. Steve shifts, turns to look at him with droopy eyes. 

“I didn’t know you had one for me.” Billy pulls an offended face and Steve laughs, pinching his cheek. “That’s not what I meant. You do so much for me already. Just having you is more than enough. I don’t expect you to get something for me just because I got you something.” He’d given Billy his Christmas present before they left for Hawkins. It was a signed Vinyl record of Metallica’s  _ Master of Puppets _ album that he’d found at a vintage record shop downtown. Steve hadn’t even thought about not receiving a gift. 

“Well, I did get you something.” He grumbles, sitting up and sifting through his jeans pocket until he pulls out a black velvet box. Steve’s jaw drops. 

“Had Henderson help me pick it out online too. It came a couple weeks ago but I, uh,” he licks his lips and looks away, “I got cold feet.”

Steve accepts the box and opens it, gasping when he sees the simple, thin gold band inside. There’s a single tiny diamond embedded in it. It’s so fucking gorgeous. “Jesus.” He mutters. “What changed your mind?” 

“Henderson cornered me last night when you went to take a dump, gave me a really long-winded talk about treating ya right and all that. And he told me to man the fuck up and give you the ring because there’s no way you’d say no.” 

“You thought I wouldn’t accept it?” Steve can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Something like that. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that we have this…  _ thing _ .” 

“A  _ relationship _ , Billy. It’s called a relationship.” Steve laughs, warmth spreading across his chest. “At least give me the privilege of labelling it now.”

“Yeah.” Billy laughs too. “So, Steven Giovanni Harrington. Will you do me the honour of being my hot-as-fuck husband some day?” He carefully plucks the ring from the cushion its cradled in and holds it out to Steve.

“It would be my honour, William Christopher Hargrove.” Steve presents his left hand, holds his breath as Billy slips it onto his finger. It fits snuggly, looks fucking ethereal against his skin and the pale blue on his nails. 

“I can’t believe I’m fucking engaged. On Christmas.” Technically, it’s the day after, but that really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. 

“Believe it, baby.” Billy leers, waggling his brows. 

“Oh my god, everyone is gonna flip.” Steve laughs. “ I’ll tell them tomorrow, though. Tonight, I just wanna enjoy it with you.” He grabs him by the front of his sweater and tugs him down onto the bed, sealing their lips together.

“I can live with that.” Billy mutters breathily between kisses. “Merry fuckin’ Christmas to us.” 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Steve is still too boujie to part with his car  
> 2\. His parents pretty much disowned him  
> 3\. Steve and Billy work minimum wage jobs  
> 4\. They were friends in high school. Officially got together after. Then they left Hawkins.  
> 5\. Sorry Barb and Robs, yall don't exist here ;-;  
> 6\. I am s o f t for Billy calling Steve baby T_T


End file.
